


always, tomorrow, and all the time

by titaniumexpose



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Angst, Flashbacks, Introspection, M/M, Sad Ending, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:13:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26737195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/titaniumexpose/pseuds/titaniumexpose
Summary: And that had been the problem, really. Chan was himself, and Felix was himself, too, and the way the ball bounced was that Felix had fallen in love with him too quickly.
Relationships: Bang Chan/Lee Felix
Comments: 4
Kudos: 28





	always, tomorrow, and all the time

**Author's Note:**

> If you've ever had a crush go unrequited you will empathize with Felix here. Fair warning, Chan's a bit of a dick in the fic, so if that's not your wheelhouse… feel free to click the back button.
> 
> This fic is very heavily inspired by Snail Mail's [Heat Wave](https://open.spotify.com/track/43E0f1S0rOGCo6YYRYHjHP?si=5zn4a6LiTeyJmNnw6NLljg) and [Pristine](https://open.spotify.com/track/4UADR6fNQfx4fxkiRQvSy2?si=ENGjJTwHS3-N-KQuU_fFQQ), both of which are terribly amazing—and heartbreaking—songs. Fic title is from the latter.

The air smells like salt and the sun is high in the sky. It makes Felix feel invincible.

Growing up, the sea had always been one of his favorite places. Many summers spent swimming in the tides, playing beach volleyball, or having barbecues on the shore had given him a healthy appreciation for it. Now that he’s grown older, the sea still remains as one of the few places on earth where he could feel like himself. Just himself—with no one to judge him for any of his deficiencies, no one to care.

“Penny for your thoughts?” someone beside him asks, and Felix doesn’t have to look their way to know who they are.

“It’s nothing,” Felix tells Chan, somewhat evasive.

“But you looked so pensive,” says Chan, curious. “What are you thinking about?”

“The sea, mostly,” Felix says. Being here dredges up a lot of memories from the past—most of them good, of course, although a few were bad. He vaguely recalls almost drowning once. A riptide had caught him while he was out swimming, and no matter how he tried to get back to shore, at the time it had seemed impossible to do so. He had been scared for his life, but more than that, scared that he’d forever hate the sea if he got out of riptide alive. He tells Chan about this, the one time he’d hated the sea more than anything.

“If I was there, I would’ve saved you,” Chan says, and it’s at this that Felix turns. Chan’s wearing his usual smile—soft, easy, dimpled—and looking at Felix with an expression of open fondness.

“You wouldn’t have had to,” replies Felix. “We had the lifeguard on duty. And anyway—if you had, can you even _do_ that? We’d both end up drowning in the end.”

“Oho, but that’s where you’re wrong, Lixie,” Chan says, his smile turning mischievous. “I actually am a Red Cross-certified lifeguard! Did that one a few years ago.”

Felix cocks his head, a bit taken aback. “You are?”

“Yep.” Chan says, and then he flexes a bicep in an admittedly obnoxious manner, but that doesn’t stop the blush from taking over Felix’s cheeks.

“Stop that,” Felix whines, “you’re awful.”

Chan flexes the other one, only stopping when Felix slaps it lightly. “Alright, alright. ‘m done.”

“I can’t believe I’m only finding that out now,” says Felix in a quiet voice that almost gets overpowered by the crashing waves.

“I think there’s still a lot we can learn about each other,” Chan says, and when he says it like that, it doesn’t seem as if Felix is lacking for not knowing. It makes it seem like there’s a whole journey of discovery they can embark on, an exploration of each other that never ends.

Chan’s soft smile makes a return, and then he’s moving closer, an arm supporting Felix from the back as he tilts Felix’s face up with his other hand. Blonde hair, brown eyes, pink lips in a gentle curve—Chan is Felix’s dream come true.

“Hey,” Felix says, and he doesn’t know if he wants to look away or drown in Chan’s eyes. “have I ever told you that I love you?”

“You always do,” Chan answers. The waves are coming stronger now, taking on a slightly distorted quality. When Chan’s next words come, they’re almost inaudible. “And I hope you know I love you too.”

His phone rings and like a bullet, it shatters the moment.

“Shit,” Felix groans. It takes a moment for him to register his surroundings—he’s not on a beachfront with Chan. He’s alone in his shitty one-bedroom apartment with the leaking eaves and the horrible heating come wintertime.

His phone doesn’t stop ringing. Felix wishes he could turn it off with a thought. Why did ringtones have to be so damn grating? Where the fuck did he put even put it last night? He has a headache the size of a planet and he doesn’t particularly want to open his eyes. He can already feel how blinding bright the sunlight will be when he cracks open his eyelids. “Shit, shit.”

With some effort as his phone had been at the foot of the bed, Felix finally picks up the call. “Who’s this?”

“Hey, it’s Hyunjin!” Felix winces at the exuberance in Hyunjin’s voice. “You up for the party at Minho-hyung’s tonight?”

Felix stomach flips at those words, though he’s not sure if it’s because he’d been dreading them or because he hasn’t eaten anything in a day and a half.

Ignorant of Felix’s anxiety, Hyunjin pushes on, “Hyung says he’s got the good stuff.” His voice bends at the end, a clear suggestion of what’s to come: a night full of recklessness and more illicit substances than someone should have access to. Minho’s always had connections, though.

On a normal day, Felix would love to go. Minho’s parties are always amazing, and god knows he’s met a lot of his current friends there. But today isn’t a normal day, and Felix is not feeling the way he normally does. Isn’t it always just the same party every weekend? Felix is beginning to feel a little sick at the thought of it. “I dunno, Hyunjin. I’ll think about it.”

Hyunjin goes quiet before saying, “We miss you, Felix.” His voice is delicate, nothing like it had been earlier—almost cutting in its happiness. “You’ve been a bit down these days, so maybe… the party would make you feel better?”

“Yeah.”

“But if you’d feel better not coming to this one, then that’s fine, too!” Hyunjin tacks on abruptly. “We just want you to be okay, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Felix says. Fuck, his head hurts like a bitch. “Thank you, Hyunjin.”

“Stay safe,” says Hyunjin, and then he ends the call.

Felix throws his phone away. It lands softly on the pillows. “Shit,” he breathes, still feeling dizzy.

Now that he’s moved a little, he realizes how much he’d been sticking to the sheets. It is not a pleasant feeling. When he’d passed out last night, he had forgotten to turn the air conditioner on, and now he was paying the sweaty, disgusting price. The blinds are thrown wide open, too, his headache getting sharper when the light hits his open eyes.

Hyunjin doesn’t know why he’s down, of course. Felix hasn’t told anyone else why. And in spite of the veritable war raging behind his eyelids, it’s not like he’s diametrically opposed to a party. He’s no stranger to consecutive nights of drinking and madness—the party, if he went, would just be one among many.

No, he’s got a different reason for not wanting to go. It’s that he’ll probably see Chan there, and Chan is the last person Felix wants to see right now.

Like an omen, the scenes from his dream descend upon him again. The dream had felt entirely too real—Felix had been on that same beach a million times before.

“Fuck,” he groans, rubbing his eyes. It’s one thing for his conscious mind to be attached to Chan, but for his own subconscious to conspire against him? He feels rather wronged. Chan is already at the forefront of his mind in his waking hours; he hasn’t any right to go and take over Felix’s dreams, too.

Not when Felix would rather forget all about him….

Felix shifts, turning over in bed. He wishes he’d changed out of his jeans and into pajamas, but he’d been too drunk to care about what he was wearing. His pants are choking the life out of his legs, but he doesn’t have it in him to stand up and take them off. Not when his head is still pounding. Hunger, hangover, heartbreak—they all meld into the one pain knocking around in his head.

Chan. The name alone makes bile rise at the back of Felix’s throat, but it also inspires a swooping feeling in his chest. Chan, and the mistake he had made two weeks ago, the reason he doesn’t want to go to the party—there’s an intersection there. The latter two form two circles of a Venn diagram, and Chan is smack dab in the middle, in the place where they meet.

Felix probably wouldn’t have made that mistake had Chan been someone else. But Chan had been no one but himself, and all too easy to fall in love with. Felix had been drawn to him since the start, had had his eyes on him from the first time they met. At the time, Chan’s hair had been a soft dark brown, falling into his eyes in careless curls that until now made Felix slightly giddy to think about.

And Chan was just Chan—except perhaps that isn’t the right way of putting it. To Felix, the word ‘just’ had the connotation of minimizing something. Treating something as _just_ that— _merely that_ —and nothing else. But Chan—see, he really was _just_ _Chan,_ except that being Chan wasn’t the same as being _just_ _anyone_.

Being Chan meant being a head and shoulders above the rest, because being Chan meant being kind, and attentive, and patient. It meant being strong but sweet, meant being careful with words while being generous with compliments. It meant tight hugs and soft smiles and good morning texts, and sometimes it meant trips to the convenience store to buy food for no reason aside from that Chan had apparently missed him.

And that had been the problem, really. Chan was himself, and Felix was himself, too, and the way the ball bounced was that Felix had fallen in love with him too quickly. Just like how a sunflower chased the sun’s golden warmth—that’s how Felix felt around Chan. Chan, who was always so nice and sweet to him; who noticed when he got into dark moods; who thought highly of him despite his many uncertainties. In no time at all, Felix felt as if he was being rewired—felt as if the shadows that lurked in himself would disappear if he got closer to Chan’s light.

He picked himself back up. He met new friends through Chan. He met Minho, and then met more friends through him. He met Hyunjin and repeated the process all over again. And throughout it all, Chan had been there to offer a kind word, a warm cup of coffee, a simple pat on the shoulder. Felix had felt loved.

In his eyes, it’s not his fault entirely that he decided to confess to Chan out of the blue. They had been in Chan’s apartment then: a tiny, cramped thing a walking distance from the studio Chan worked at. Chan’s hair had been a light blonde. When he was getting in, Felix had joked that it looked like cotton candy, and Chan had smiled that stupid, lovable smile of his—that smile Felix thought was his alone to see.

It’s not his fault entirely that he’d been under that impression. After all, Chan seemed to harbor such a soft spot for him, didn’t he? Even their other friends had commented on that. When their friends had said so, Chan merely shook his head and blushed, which Felix thought was a good thing—except that it wasn’t at all.

They had even kissed one night in one of Minho’s innumerable parties. Their kiss tasted sweet and strong, like the Long Island iced teas that they’d been having, and Felix had thought it the best thing to have happened to him in ages.

Was it so wrong for him to have taken all of those hints as a sign that there was meaning in the way Chan looked at him?

The answer to that question, as Felix found out that day in Chan’s apartment, was yes.

“I’m sorry, Felix,” Chan had said, eyes downcast and looking everywhere but Felix. They were on his lap first, then they were on the books on his coffee table, and then they were on the painting that hung on the wall behind Felix. Everywhere but him. “I can’t say that I, um. Feel the same way towards you.”

“So before, when you said that you loved me—?”

“I do,” Chan had cried, putting both hands up. “But. Probably not the way you love me.”

Felix had been struck dumb, leaving Chan to continue his explanation, “You’re great, and all! You’re probably one of my best friends. But… I just don’t feel that way.”

“Why?”

“Um, because it’s just not possible?” Chan had laughed, sounding uncertain, driving the stake further into Felix’s heart. When he noticed Felix’s face falling, he’d amended, “Oh, no, not because I don’t _want_ to! You’re amazing, Felix, haven’t I told you that? It’s just… you know me. I’m straight.”

“You’re straight,” Felix coughed out.

Chan had been looking at his socked feet as he said his next words. “Yes, I am.”

“But you _kissed_ me,” Felix said, clutching at straws. “You did. Don’t you remember?”

Chan’s brow furrowed then, his expression morphing into one of genuine bemusement. “Did I? Sorry, but I can’t recall.”

“Ah,” Felix recalls having said. At that point, there was really nothing else left to say.

“I actually, um. Like someone else,” Chan added, as if he hadn’t done enough damage to Felix already. Felix wanted to cry mercy. “Oh, but we don’t have to talk about that, of course! We don’t have to talk about anything.”

“Yeah,” Felix had said. His stomach felt like lead. “We don’t.”

That night had ended in feigned casualness from Felix and probably-not-so-feigned casualness from Chan. How Felix wished to have had Chan’s mental fortitude—he got confessed to by one of his quote-unquote best friends, and the way he played it off was to have them watch a goddamn movie. It had been fucking _Godfather,_ too, because Chan was apparently hell-bent on proving that he was a manly man heterosexual.

“We’re still friends, right?” Chan had asked, just as Felix was leaving his apartment.

“Yeah,” Felix had answered. “Still friends.”

 _Only friends. Just friends._ And here the ‘just’ felt appropriate—the word ‘friend’ certainly seemed too small to ever fit all his feelings for Chan, but in the absence of anything else to call him it would have to do.

In the days that followed, Felix lived like a zombie—which was to say that he didn’t. He floated from work to home and back again, took baths only when necessary, ate only when he felt like his body was on the verge of giving up. He felt gutted and empty, like a ghost always hovering an inch or two off the ground. Or like a mirage that could shimmer and blink out of existence at any second.

His friends had been worried. They asked Chan about it, of course. He and Felix were, after all, still friends. And Felix begged him not to breathe a word about it to Minho and Hyunjin and the rest, because then that would make his feelings—and the subsequent rejection—all the more real, whereas if it were kept a thing solely between them he could pretend that this depression he’d fallen into was because of something else entirely.

Felix had ended up saying that he was in a slump because his childhood dog died while he wasn’t at home, neglecting to mention that the said dog didn’t exist in the first place.

It’s been two weeks since that awful confrontation in Chan’s apartment, and if Felix is going to be honest, he doesn’t want to go to tonight’s party at all. More than that, he doesn’t want to see Chan ever again. That night in the apartment had been one of the most embarrassing things to have happened to him, and one of the most painful, too.

(What hurt the most, really, was how unfazed Chan was by all of it. How easily he took Felix’s words in stride. How easily he carded them away. He was pristine in that moment, seeming so far removed from Felix’s words that he could have been from another planet for all Felix knew.)

But there’s no running away from what had happened. He just has to take Chan for his word. Chan can’t like him because he’s straight. He’s gay enough to kiss him, tender and passionate like a slow-burning fire, but not gay enough to like him back. Anyway.

Besides, Chan likes someone else. Felix doesn’t even want to know. He didn’t ask and he never wants to. But if Chan treated every woman he met the way he treats Felix, then Chan would have an army of women hanging on to every one of his words.

Whoever it is that Chan likes specifically, she’s the luckiest person on earth. Felix almost wishes he could meet her—barring the obvious, what is in her that Felix lacks? What is it that she had? If Felix had it, then would that mean he wouldn’t have gotten rejected? Probably not, because Chan is straight, but it never hurts to hope.

It never hurts to hope until it does.

Felix wants to say that in hindsight, he’d expected the rejection—that way, the ending that he got would at least make sense. But he _can’t,_ and that’s the worst part. He really let Chan walk away with his heart, because Chan seemed like he wanted to—he just seemed, seemed, _seemed_ —and now that they’re here Chan doesn’t even have the courtesy to give it back.

In the end, everything is still Felix’s fault. No one told him to fall for Chan, but he did. No one told him to confess to Chan, but he did. And no one told him to hold on to his feelings for Chan after being rejected, but he did. Oh, he fucking did.

This, really, is why Felix doesn’t want to show up at the party: he still likes Chan, and it’s awful, it’s embarrassing, and it fucking hurts. He remembers the kiss, the gentleness and the reverence of it, remembers the sleepy and content smile that Chan had given him after—and remembers, too, that Chan fucking forgot.

One of the sweetest nights of Felix’s life, and it was nothing to the man that he shared it with. The thought burns somewhere deep in his chest, slowly turning his heart into cold and bitter ash.

Felix doesn’t know how much time he spends just roiling in awful emotion, but the sun sets and he has to turn the lights on in his room. He passes by the mirror on his wall, surprising himself with how terrible he looks. Bags under the eyes, sallow skin, pale lips that were cracked and bleeding—was this what Hyunjin saw the other day that had him sounding so concerned over the phone? If so, then Felix can understand. He looks like a bag of shit that got ran over. He looks a couple of hours away from death.

His stomach grumbles again, and the pain that jolts through it is like fire. It reminds him that he hasn’t had a proper meal in ages. So he cooks a shitty dinner and drinks some shitty juice that he’d grabbed from his mini fridge. Five minutes after he’s through, he can’t remember how anything tasted. It all tasted the same. Not even like cardboard—just a uniform nothing, as if his very taste buds had become insensate.

He puts his dishes in the sink, leaving them to soak in some soapy water. He’s fully intending to just stand there for a few hours to watch the soap suds disappear when his phone rings again. Still as grating as ever. He has to put that thing on silent one of these days.

“Hyunjin, what’s up?” Felix asks. Now that he’s eaten something, he feels marginally better, and he manages to pump some enthusiasm into his voice.

“Hi, Lix, how are you? You comin’ tonight?”

 _Wait, that’s not Hyunjin’s voice,_ Felix realizes with no small amount of dread. It’s Chan’s. “Chan-hyung?”

“It’d be really great if you could drop by!” Chan continues. He sounds happy. Without a care in the world. Felix wants to tell him to shut the fuck up. “I haven’t seen you in a while. I miss you.”

He misses Felix? The thought made Felix scoff. Yeah, right. It’s all the same shit, all the same lines. All these passing phrases that, like a jacket that’s been put on too many times, Chan has already worn out.

But still….

“Hyunjin said you were feeling low. Is there anything we could do to help?” Chan asks.

 _You could love me,_ Felix almost wants to say. _You could, you could. Maybe you can, and you just don’t want to._ “No, but thank you for the offer, hyung.”

“Alright,” Chan says, still so easy. As if anything could be with him. “But the party—are you coming?”

Something passes over Felix in the space of a heartbeat. It’s obsession, probably. Or helplessness. The answer is rushing out of his lips before he can stop it.

“Yeah,” he says, feeling hollow. In the end, nothing changes. He throws himself into the sea to drown. “Course. I’ll see you.”

**Author's Note:**

> _No more changes, I'll still love you the same._


End file.
